


8140km

by JinjoJess



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Manipulation, F/F, Sibling Incest, Spoilers, cameos by several other characters I don't feel like listing, so many spoilers, you know all that good despaircest stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 21:29:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JinjoJess/pseuds/JinjoJess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when SHSL Zetsubou's oldest and dearest member defects from the cause?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [264feet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/264feet/gifts).



Their father told them that their mother died in childbirth.

His tone and chilly demeanor made it clear that he placed the blame with them. Even if that had been too subtle, there were always the angry, sour words that dripped from his numbed lips when he came home from an evening out with coworkers. I never wanted children. She insisted. Now you're my problem.

Mukuro absorbed the words, feeling them poison her blood. Junko devoured them, savoring the acrid taste.

They couldn't remember her. Yes, there were photographs around the house—most notably on the _butsudan_ —so they knew what she looked like. Yet there were no memories. There wasn't a voice to match the face, nor any mannerisms to lend it personality. As far as they were concerned, their mother existed forever frozen in a two-dimensional space. Junko had suggested once that she could only move when not observed; Mukuro had stayed up late one night in an attempt to catch her, but ultimately had been overcome with a sense of dread. In the end, she had retreated to the comfort of Junko's side.

Their father kept the door to his late wife's study locked away from them. It wasn't until late in their sixth year of elementary school that they managed to enter.

It had been Junko's idea, of course. She already had begun to style her hair differently from Mukuro, curling it every morning and bleaching it with coloring she stole from Sun Drug. Though Mukuro expected their father to punish her, the way fathers on news reports about unruly children did, nothing ever came of it. Junko was equally surprised.

“The least the old man could do is pay attention,” she'd said. “What a disappointment.”

While drastic physical changes and unnecessary petty thievery failed, breaking into their mother's sacred room was sure to catch his notice. Mukuro had begun to suspect that her sister preferred his ire. Perhaps she'd given up on positive attention?

Junko had been a bit let down by the interior. It was too austere, too utilitarian, too boring. The only thing out of place had been the stack of journals collecting dust on one of the shelves. Mukuro had paged through a few and made a mental note to check back later.

Surprisingly, their father failed to notice their break-in, so the two had spent evenings after school reading about their mother's life. To Mukuro's relief and Junko's disappointment, it seemed that she had been an average, though forgetful, woman.

“Ugh, who gives a shit about this. I'm skipping to the good part.”

“The good part?”

“Yeah, where we show up.” Junko toppled a stack of books, grinning at the noise they made hitting the tatami.

“Junko-chan, she died right after we were born. How could she write about us in her journal?”

She clearly hadn't stopped to consider the paradoxical flaw in her original suggestion. “Maybe there's something about what she thought we'd be like,” her sister said.

Perhaps in an attempt to hide her embarrassment, Junko snapped her wrist to open the journal, sending papers flying. One, Mukuro noticed, was an envelope bearing the unmistakable curves and angles of her name.

“What's this?”

“How should I know?” Junko said. She noticed another envelope bearing her kanji. “I've got one too.”

“Should we open them?”

“What a stupid question. They're addressed to us.”

Mukuro had been dubbed the athletic twin at school—reliable on sports day, but not much fun to talk to. She was unsure how to voice her apprehension. Good news was very rarely contained in packages like this.

Luckily, Junko had already sensed her unease. “There's something kind of scary about these.”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, the way our names are written, it almost feels like a suicide note. She definitely wrote these not long before she died.”

“Maybe we shouldn't open them.”

“You do what you want, but there's no way I'm not reading mine.”

Gleefully, Junko ripped the envelope open, tearing the paper right through her name. Mukuro looked at the letter in her hand and carefully folded the tab back. It wasn't even sealed.

The paper slid quietly into her hand, so light that she barely felt it. That seemed wrong. Her mother's final message should have had more heft.

 _Dear Mukuro,_ it began, _I'm so sorry._

When had she found time to write these letters, Mukuro wondered, her eyes scanning the page, absorbing every phrase but the ones that exposed the truth. According to their father, she was dead by the time her newborn daughters were clean and ready to hold.

_I love you so much. Take care of Junko._

Mukuro lifted her fingers to her face and realized she was crying. It was a bizarre sensation; she could hear the sobs emanating from her mouth, but she couldn't feel the vibrations in her throat. Her mind felt dim, hazy, so familiar and yet entirely separate from the detached way she thought when in survival mode. Junko hovered on the edge of her blurred consciousness, silent, with her own letter in her lap. Her mouth had bent into an uneven grin, her lips parted, her eyes wide and staring at the wall.

“Junko,” Mukuro said, not entirely of her own volition. She felt loose, unmoored. If she didn't find something to cling to soon, she'd float away from herself and possibly never come back.

Her twin didn't respond.

“Junko.” She tried again, her voice firmer this time. There was comfort just in saying the name, in deciding to say something and feeling the words leave her mouth.

When Junko failed to react a second time, Mukuro began to crawl toward her. Things were getting clearer now, coming into focus. She was aware of the way the tatami scraped against her bare knees, the shrill buzzing of cicadas outside, the individual beads of sweat forming on her skin.

She grabbed her sister's shoulders and shook them. “Junko Junko Junko.”

The other girl didn't resist, but let herself be jostled. Her head pinioned on her neck, her eyes glassy. Mukuro had never seen her like this before. Her expression was caught between elation and anguish. Junko had yet to say anything.

She had to stop this. The grim contents of her own letter were already forgotten save for the final line. _Take care of Junko._ Mukuro hated the twisted geometry of that smile; she wanted to rip it from her sister's face.

When she'd been younger, Mukuro had often pretended to be a dog. She would follow Junko on all fours, playing at being her pet, knocking her over and licking her face in effusive displays of affection. Now the animal part of her was desperate and threatened, and her body reacted on its own. She lunged forward, her bared teeth colliding with Junko's lips.

“What the--?!” That seemed to get her attention. “Nee-chan, what are you doing?”

“Sorry! I don't know. I'm sorry.” Mukuro retreated a few steps. Her legs were beginning to burn from where they'd been drug across the straw.

Junko turned to look at where her letter had fallen, moving languidly as if she'd just woken up. She reached out to retrieve it, then recoiled, her fingertips centimeters from the paper. When she looked back at her twin, her pupils were dilated.

“Mukuro-nee.”

She could never be sure later which of them moved first. She preferred to think that they had acted at exactly the same time, in tandem, filling each others arms and mashing their lips together. The untamed part of her took over then, pushing Junko to the floor with her own torso. Their breathing and heart rates quickened, and Mukuro began to clumsily press her body against her twin's.

It was so unlike how she felt when competing in survival contests. There was no distance here, no calm, no self-assurance—just a ravenous _need_ and a thousand sensations bombarding her at once. The skin of her knees wearing away as she thrusted. The tense knot coiling in her stomach, pulling itself more taut with each passing moment. The sharp, sweet scent of the tatami stinging her nose. Junko's breath against her ear, somehow managing to be hotter than the moist air in the humid room.

“Nee-chan,” Junko pleaded.

Mukuro pulled away, as if she'd been burned.

Junko lay on her back, her clothes wrinkled and mussed. She looked at her twin in confusion.

“What's wrong?”

“I can't.”

“What?”

“I can't. I'm sorry. I can't. You're, you're my sister.”

Gripping the shelf for support, Mukuro stood up. For the first time in her short life, she felt like she couldn't trust her own body; her legs trembled under her weight. As she stumbled out of the room, Junko didn't say anything. Mukuro was sure that her sister didn't even sit up until well after she finished crying in the bathtub.

They avoided each other after that.

At least, Mukuro avoided Junko. She dragged her futon to the opposite end of their bedroom, building a small nest that she would only emerge from if her sister wasn't present. She left home early to walk to school by herself, and altered all the routes she took to class. There was thankfully no one to ask awkward questions about their apparent falling out. Mukuro didn't have any other friends.

_Take care of Junko._

She was trying, but a sub-human creature that couldn't control its desires shouldn't be trusted around her sister. If she were to corrupt Junko, to pull her into sin, there could be no forgiveness.

Their father seemed to be oblivious or ambivalent to his daughters' rift. When he announced to them separately that they would be spending winter vacation in Europe, he appeared genuinely confused at Mukuro's sudden tears.

Of course, the vacation was mandatory. The room was too small, far too close, and there was only space enough for two beds, one reserved for their father. Mukuro had decided to sleep on the floor, but their father scolded her and ordered her to lie down next to her sister. Junko said nothing, turned away toward the door.

Hours later, Mukuro could no longer bear the quiet, even sounds of Junko breathing. She slid from under the covers and changed into hiking clothes, making as little noise as possible. Their father was asleep in the next bed, but Junko was not.

She expected her twin to say something when she opened the door, but she simply watched her go.

*

“What the fuck do you mean, you're leaving the organization?”

“Junko-chan, you just repeated exactly what I said.”

“That's because I'm trying to comprehend the stupid _bullshit_ coming from your mouth.”

Mukuro watched her sister rub her left temple. It was a habit she'd picked up after the organization grew beyond the boundaries of the school and forced her into leadership on a grander scale than she'd experienced before. The habit indicated frustration, with the tiniest hint of anxiety. Mukuro doubted anyone else in the organization would even notice it (with the possible exception of Tsumiki, though she didn't want to think about that).

It was difficult to not rush over and take her sister into a hug. Yet if she ever wanted to leave, touching Junko could not happen.

“I'm sorry,” Mukuro said.

“Oh, I'm sure you are.” Junko began to pace around the bedroom. Every so often, her manicured hands plucked something up off the dresser or the bed and slammed it back down. “Not as sorry as you're gonna be.”

“Junko-chan-”

“I should've killed you.”

Junko had stopped near the window; she leaned against the wall, her nails digging into the plaster.

“I almost did, you know,” she said, too furious to even savor the hypothetical despair. “Had my finger over a button that would've turned you into the most despair-inducing little pin-cushion.”

Why didn't you? Mukuro wanted to ask. Instead, she concentrated on keeping her gaze level as Junko turned around.

“And then you would've spent the rest of the show's run on a slab in the biology room. Is that what you wanted?”

“No.”

“You hated the prison cell. You know how hard I worked to make it that despairing, right?”

Mukuro did know, if only because the duty of preparing the filthy hole she was to spend months living in had fallen on her. Junko had had very little to do with it.

“Yes.”

“Then why are you being such an ungrateful little _cunt?!_ ” Junko's pitch soared on the last word. She grabbed a lamp from the bedside table and chucked it. Mukuro didn't have to dodge; the lamp shattered on the wall thirty centimeters to her left. She really should have insisted that her twin take her combat lessons more seriously. It was Mukuro's own fault though, for being so easily distracted by her sister's touches.

Junko had been more volatile than usual since her defeat by their former classmates, but this was a rage even beyond that. It terrified Mukuro—how much did she know of her plans? She had to get out of here before her twin sniffed out her motives for resigning.

“I'm sorry, Junko-chan. I have to go.”

Turn quickly, Mukuro ordered herself, face the door so that you can't see her. If you look directly at her, you'll never get out of here.

“Where do you think you're going?”

The older twin didn't answer, already walking toward the door. She was sure Junko could see that her legs were trembling.

“I asked you where the _fuck_ you think you're going.”

“I'm sorry,” she said one final time before the door shut behind her. Outside in the hallway, she paused for a moment to collect herself before heading toward the exit. As long as she kept moving, there was no danger. She would leave.

She would locate the survivors.

~

Almost an hour later, Junko was still staring in disbelief at the space where Mukuro had been standing.

“I can't believe it. I can't fucking believe it...”

Her nails dug into her palms, her knuckles straining against her skin. That maggot had the nerve to leave her after all she'd done for her, dousing her in power and affection. Where did she think all of those fancy American military-grade guns had come from? Why did she think Junko allowed her all of those top-secret assignments? Was she really presumptuous enough to think that her appearance on _The Ultimate Despair-Inducing Reality Show: High School of Hope and Students of Despair_ was anything more than nepotism in action?

Junko felt her flesh yield to her nails; a warm rush of blood drowned her fingertips.

Her breath rattled as she sucked in air, stomping toward the door. She half-expected Mukuro to still be waiting on the other side, though when she opened it, only the empty hallway greeted her.

“Mukuro.”

No answer.

“Mu. Ku. Ro.”

The only thing breaking the silence was the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead.

“Ikusaba!”

Junko's volume had risen from a low growl to a shrill bark. She could keep going. She could do this all day, until she was screaming her sister's name in the coldest, most formal way possible.

“Ikusaba Mukuro!”

Mukuro hated being called by her full name. In fact, if she didn't answer, Junko would be forced to use the name her sister hated the most.

“ENOSHIMA MUKURO!”

“What's wrong?”

Junko flinched at the voice; she hadn't actually expected an answer.

“Enoshima-sama, what's going on? Why are you so upset?”

Ah, Junko realized with a rush of disappointment, Tsumiki. A nauseous twinge of despair swirled in her stomach at seeing the nurse rather than her twin. She decided to savor it.

“Oh, Mikan-chan, it's terrible!” she said, slipping into a more demure, though ironically less vulnerable, persona. She threw herself at Tsumiki, wrapping her arms around her neck and pressing her face to her cheek.

Tsumiki tensed at Junko's touch, but immediately relaxed. Her love would never hurt her, even if she deserved it. “Will you tell me what's wrong? I hate seeing you like this.”

“It's a despair I thought I'd never experience again,” Junko said. She chose this moment to nuzzle Tsumiki's ear, just the way she knew the nurse liked. “The despair of watching my own sister walk out on me.”

“Ah,” Tsumiki said. Her body felt as though it was liquifying; Junko had tightened her grip, and now their chests were pressed together. “So you're happy then.”

Just as she’d become comfortable, Junko’s grip tightened and her nails dug into the nurse. She broke the embrace and shoved Tsumiki against the wall. 

“NO! I'm not fuckin' happy!”

“But you said-”

“I said my flesh-and-blood, my other half, my goddamn _twin_ just fuckin' left me!”

“Y-yes, but you also said it was a kind of d-despair, and...”

“It is, but it's the shittiest kind of despair! It's a despair that isn't even worth having! It's completely superfluous. Who wants a sandwich covered in shit when you're already eating out of a garbage can?!”

“I'm afraid I didn't quite follow that metaphor.”

“Of course you didn't! That's because it was terrible, just like abandoning your poor, sweet, precious little sister...”

Tsumiki hadn't seen Junko shift personalities this quickly since the climax of the reality show, when those unforgivable bastards managed to unravel her plan. While she hadn't been part of the rescue team that had gone to retrieve their leader from the garbage room, Tsumiki had heard that the indignity of having her life spared had caused Junko to fire through three or four personas within a single sentence.

It irked her that Junko's dirty, inferior double could cause this much distress in her beloved.

Though then again, Tsumiki thought as she crouched down next to where Junko was curled up on the floor in the fetal position, that ungrateful bitch had finally left her post. There was now a vacancy, and Tsumiki was all too happy to fill it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look who's finally on AO3! The mega-fic I used to finish out my 24 Days of Despair advent calendar on Tumblr. Hope you enjoy.


	2. Chapter 2

It had taken months, but Mukuro had managed to track down the survivors of the reality show. They were apparently being sheltered by something called the Future Foundation, based out of the area that used to be Sumida-ku. She remembered the name being mentioned during one of the meetings for Zetsubou higher ups, but it had been during a presentation by Kamukura (one of the few people she hated almost as much as Tsumiki), and Junko had been wearing a very flattering dress that day.

 _Don't worry, Junko-chan. I'm sure they'll help me._

It should have only taken about two hours to walk from Shibuya to the park where the the Future Foundation headquarters was supposedly located, but Mukuro knew that Junko would have her tailed. Instead she headed north, losing two of her pursuers in Ueno Park and killing the third at one of the eastern exits. Many organization members believed it was impossible to deceive their leader when it came to predicting outcomes, and there was no living person Junko had more data on than Mukuro.

Yet there was no living person with as much data on Junko, either. Despite her pointed underestimation of Mukuro's intellect in public, she was well aware of how resourceful and sharp her twin could be when properly motivated. A normal idiot would leave an obvious trail pointing to where they'd be heading, and a slightly smarter person would create a diversion. An even cleverer individual might put the diversion in the same direction they needed to go, hoping to throw their pursuer off. The one who got away, though, was the one who knew that their ruse would be seen through instantly, but went ahead and set it up anyway.

It probably didn't hurt that Mukuro had a second benefit unique to her: Junko's trust.

 _I'm not really betraying her,_ the soldier told herself for the thousandth time. _This is for her own good._

Mukuro headed east until she hit the river, then turned to move south. The sky had clouded over and it looked like it would rain at any moment, so she stayed under the abandoned overpass. Again, a move so stupidly obvious that Junko would never even consider it.

It was already dusk by the time she reached the park. Time and Despair had not been kind to this area; the scrubby, discolored plants and endless trash framed the half-destroyed Sky Tree in the background perfectly. Mukuro could remember that mission—how Junko had insisted on setting off the bomb herself, how the safety rope had almost snapped in the blast, how tightly Tsumiki had wrapped the bandages around the second-degree burns on her hands.

There wasn't time to reminisce. If she knew Junko at all, those three assassins weren't the only ones that would come after her. After a day or two, when it was confirmed that she wasn't coming back, her sister would send more skilled members of the organization. It wasn't that Mukuro didn't think she'd be able to overpower them; she just didn't want to have to break any more of Junko's toys than was necessary.

According to her information, the entrance was hidden somewhere in the park hidden beneath the blanket of garbage. Unfortunately, her informant had been a stubborn one, and Mukuro had almost run out of teeth before he finally gave in. His answer as to where exactly the entrance was hadn't been intelligible.

She really should have taken his testicles out of the freezer before she left. That was awfully rude, and she felt badly despite that she'd never have to face the fallout of it.

The thought left a stinging pain. She couldn't go back now.

No. She had to stay focused. This was all for Junko's sake, even if it hurt.

The Future Foundation's headquarters shouldn't be too difficult to locate. Sure enough, a few minutes scrutinizing the ground revealed an unnatural seam in the dead grass. Moving closer to inspect it, Mukuro noticed a taut wire ringing the hidden door. A banal trap, but competently executed. The average organization member would probably never notice it.

Mukuro did a quick scan—no security cameras. The Future Foundation really must have been grass roots if they hadn't even been able to set up CCTV. That had been one of the first things she and Junko had done after the Incident began; they'd gone on what Junko affectionately called “shopping trips” to gather supplies. To be fair to the Future Foundation, they had gone a bit overboard in hoarding equipment.

Her years in Fenrir had taught her that the easiest way into any stronghold was capture. It gave the captors a sense of control and fostered trust. Mukuro needed them to hear what she had to say, and their shared history—if they'd even managed to regain it—might not be enough. In light of what they'd been through, it probably wasn't.

Mukuro stepped on the wire.

~

Fukawa was the first to hear the alarm. She'd slunk into the meeting room and waved to get Kirigiri's attention a full five seconds before the automated announcement.

“W-We've caught something,” she said as they walked toward the airlock.

“I hope it's just another animal,” Kirigiri said.

Fukawa snorted. “There haven't b-been any animals outside the compound s-since we got here.”

“I know.” Kirigiri gently touched her friend's arm. She could tell Fukawa was afraid. “But we can always hope, right?”

“S-Sure, I guess.”

They approached the massive steel door. It bore an unsettling similarity to the one that had trapped them in the school; it was no wonder Fukawa was nervous. Being in the airlock made all of them uncomfortable.

“Would you mind?” Kirigiri asked after punching in the security code.

“Right.”

Fukawa stepped up to the panel and placed her hand on the scanner. The supervisor had promised Kirigiri that they would install a retina scanner as an alternative, but it had yet to be added.

The locks on the door released pressurized steam with a hiss and the two halves groaned as they pulled apart.

“I'll go in first,” Kirigiri told Fukawa. There was always a chance of a mangled body or a hasty suicide in the trap. The detective had less reason to avoid the sight of blood.

Her bootfalls echoed through the massive chamber as she walked. Pressing the DOWN button, she looked back at Fukawa and offered an encouraging smile. The writer looked at the floor.

A three meter by three meter plexiglass container descended from above, suspended by a thick metal cord. The relief Kirigiri felt when she saw its contents was still alive dissipated as soon as she recognized who the person was.

She must have screamed, because Fukawa ran into the room and grabbed her arm.

“W-What is it?” she said. Her eyes were still focused on the ground.

“Call the others,” Kirigiri said.

~

“Are we all here?” Gondo said. He surveyed the group gathered in front of him.

“Many of us are currently working at satellite bases,” Tomioka said with a salute. She held her clipboard tighter.

“Is everyone in the headquarters present?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I want half of you to go down to communications. The other half scatter all over the base.”

A murmur of protests undulated through the crowd.

“Do you realize who we have in captivity?” Gondo said. “We have the highest ranking member of ChoZetsu!”

This time shocked gasps peppered the hum of conversation.

“Kirigiri-san and Fukawa-san discovered her in our trap this afternoon. I don't need to remind you how dangerous this person is. Her being here is obviously some kind of gambit.”

“If that's the case, we should disperse so that we aren't all obliterated at once,” Tomioka said. “Those of you in communications contact the agents in the field immediately if anything happens.”

“Exactly. We will disseminate information to you in groups following the interrogation.”

As the crowd began to disperse and move toward other areas of the headquarters, Gondo turned to the newest recruits.

“You six come with me.”

“Do we have to?” Hagakure said. He'd already begun to edge toward one of the clumps of people heading for the hallway.

“I agree. Is it necessary for someone so insignificant to be present for anything this important?”

“Hey, I appreciate you gettin' my back, Togami-chi, but next time could you do it without the insult?”

“Don't tell him what to do!”

“Fukawa-chan, calm down. We're all nervous.” Asahina laced her fingers with the writer's.

Naegi tugged on Kirigiri's sleeve.

“Is it really her?” he asked. He looked terrified.

“Yes. From what I could tell.”

“How did she get caught in our trap?”

“That's what I'm wondering myself. I suppose the only way to know is to ask her.”

“I don't like this.” Naegi clenched his fists and looked down. It was as though the fear de-aged him; she felt like she was consoling an elementary school student.

“I understand.” Kirigiri wasn't sure what to say beyond that. The situation was eerily similar to the one they'd been in months ago, when the “Enoshima Junko” that had been hauled off and thrown into a cell not long after the first murder had turned out to be the mastermind's accomplice.

She couldn't speak for the others, but Kirigiri at least had taken the reveal badly. The whole ordeal had crippled her already fragile ability to trust, but learning that the girl she'd befriended was reporting all of their conversations and actions to their enemy had been the most painful blow.

It had driven her further into paranoia. Even now, after all they'd faced together, Kirigiri couldn't fully trust her fellow survivors. Their camaraderie could be an illusion; they could be waiting undercover for the perfect chance to pull the rug out from under her. Kirigiri barely knew herself—how could she claim to know anyone else?

“Are you ready?”

Gondo and Tomioka were waiting by the containment cell door.

She wasn't. They weren't. They never would be, really, but no one was going to wait.

“Let's go.”

The containment cell wasn't a small room, but somehow it felt like standing in a closet. Their side held a folding table and a few aluminum chairs. The captive's side, separated by glass as thick as Asahina's arm, contained nothing but a single seat where the occupant could be restrained. A young woman of about twenty was sitting in it, her wrists, ankles, and neck clad in heavy iron shackles. She stared ahead without emotion; her gaze seemed to penetrate the glass.

They clustered around the door, lacking courage to approach the barrier. After a few tense seconds, Gondo turned to Kirigiri.

“Shall we?”

She tried to remember that she was once a world class detective. That was why he had asked her for help. Not because their leader was a coward.

The prisoner's eyes targeted Kirigiri as they walked up to the glass. It was difficult to meet her stare, but the detective refused to look away.

“Do you know who I am?” Gondo asked.

The woman ignored him.

“Hey, I said, 'Do you know who I am?'” He rapped on the glass.

If she noticed him, there was no indication. Her eyes didn't leave Kirigiri.

“I'm the leader of the Future Foundation, Gondo Yuunosuke.” He adjusted his posture to something a bit more authoritative. “We know who you are...ahem...”

“Ikusaba Mukuro,” Kirigiri said in a venomous tone. Gondo flinched—he, like most Incident survivors, had trouble hearing or speaking aloud the names of the Instigators. Being in a room with one of them was probably putting him at serious risk of a heart attack.

For her part, Mukuro's eyebrows raised a hair.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Kirigiri didn't realize how heavily the question had been sitting inside her until she asked it. The relief left her a little dizzy.

“This place is more high tech than I expected.”

“Well, sometimes the best defense is to make oneself appear weak and stupid,” Kirigiri said. She expected her former classmate to react violently, but Mukuro's mouth simply quirked upward on one side.

“Well said.”

What was she playing at? Kirigiri understood that the fake Enoshima she'd confided in every night in the prison area of the basement was a fabrication, but she thought she'd seen the real Ikusaba when things had come apart at the end. The Ikusaba Mukuro she'd briefly known after the mastermind had been unmasked (and unceremoniously dumped down the trash chute) was an avatar of quiet rage. She would not have let an overt dig at her sister go unpunished. Kirigiri felt her tenuous faith tremble around her.

“You're too smart to fall into that trap,” she said. “You tripped it on purpose.”

“I've missed this, Kirigiri,” Mukuro said. Her expression softened into an affectionate smile.

“I don't know what your sister has been teaching you, but do not expect me to fall for such sloppy manipulation.”

“You think I don't mean it?”

“I'm saying you have ulterior motives.”

“Oh, I do. But that doesn't change the fact that I've genuinely missed you. All of you.” Mukuro looked past Kirigiri for the first time in their conversation. “You're still my friends.”

The detective clenched her jaw hard enough to cause pain. How _dare_ she.

“I don't think she's lying,” Naegi said, stepping forward.

“Oh, here we go,” Togami said with a resigned sigh.

“No, I don't think so either,” Asahina said. “I've started to remember things from before, and Ikusaba-chan was friendly with us.”

“I-Ikusaba-chan?!” Fukawa clung more tightly to Asahina's arm. “Since when is she 'Ikusaba-chan'?!”

“We'll deal with your jealousy issues later,” Togami said. He pointed at Mukuro. “Are all of you so dense that you think that was sincere? It was an act!”

“Hey! I didn't say anything about believin' her, right?”

“Have you regained any memories yet, Togami-san?” Naegi clutched the front of his hoodie. It brought a pang of nostalgia, though Kirigiri had trouble reconciling the feeling with the months of murder and captivity they'd endured. “Ikusaba-san saved my life a few times. Why would she do that if she didn't care?”

“It's because you were supposed to compete in that sick game.”

“But I'm a nobody. The people watching wouldn't care whether or not I competed.”

“Are you asking me to explain those lunatics' motives?”

“I can remember her doing small, kind things,” Asahina said. “Things she didn't have to do, and that wouldn't have helped the plan at all.”

“You're all c-crazy!” Fukawa let go of Asahina and scurried to Togami's side instead. Kirigiri caught the hurt in the swimmer's eyes. “She's going t-to turn us over to her d-deranged sister!”

“Believe it or not, I'm not here to sow distrust or start in-fighting,” Mukuro said. “I need your help.”

“And what could we possibly assist you with?” Kirigiri asked.

Mukuro inhaled deeply, holding it a moment, then said: “I need help saving Junko-chan.”

The bickering ceded to confused silence.

“From...what...?”

“From despair.”

The group exploded into turmoil; the acoustics in the containment room must have been superb to amplify the noise from such a small group of people so well.

“You want us,” Togami said slowly, as if speaking to a small child, “to rescue _**Enoshima Junko**_ from despair?!”

Gondo and Tomioka expelled uncomfortable whimpers and instinctively cowered at the name.

“Is...is that even possible?” Hagakure asked.

“I didn't think it was,” Mukuro said. “I had resigned myself to loving Junko-chan the way she is, but then you were able to beat her game and escape...it gave me...hope.”

“How do we know you aren't just here to recapture us though?”

“You don't. All I can give you is my word.”

“That amounts to nothing,” Togami said. “We know where your loyalty lies.”

“Exactly. So you know that I'm dead serious when I say I want to rescue her.”

“W-We're not really going to trust her, are we?”

“No,” Kirigiri said. She crossed her arms to disguise how stiff she'd gone.

“We shouldn't just shut her out,” Naegi said, “especially not if she's learning how to hope.”

“How would you feel if it were your family?” Asahina said, near tears. “Sakura-chan's final wish was for us to stop fighting!”

“That d-doesn't go for the m-mastermind and her bitch!”

“What do you think, Kirigiri-san?” Naegi turned to her, eyes expectant. She'd been his support, his confidant, his partner throughout the entire game and beyond. He'd proven himself reliable and sincere, albeit a bit naïve. She didn't want to let him down.

“Yes, Kirigiri, let's have it.” Togami pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You're the only other one here with half a brain; I'll defer to your judgement.”

Gondo shifted in irritation but kept silent.

The detective looked between the Future Foundation leaders, her fellow survivors, and the woman who had betrayed her.

“I say we execute her.”

“What?!”

“Kirigiri-san!”

“It's only logical. The longer she's here, the more she learns about us and the more intelligence Enoshima gains.”

“You're better than this,” Naegi said. “We let them live because we didn't want to sink to their level.”

“Perhaps I feel that we made a mistake.”

Mukuro jerked forward, straining against her bonds. She muttered something under her breath like a mantra.

“So your facade could only go so far,” Togami said with a smirk.

“She's putting a curse on us!”

“Hagakure, calm down.”

“Shall we put it to a vote?” Kirigiri asked. The words left trails of disgust on her tongue.

“Yeah, why don't we?”

“That's the best way, right?”

“S-Sounds fair.”

“Very well. Those opposed to execution?”

Asahina and Naegi's arms shot into the air, determined expressions on their faces.

“Two. Those in favor?”

The remaining hands raised, some more enthusiastically than others. Gondo and Tomioka seemed hesitant, as if they weren't sure if they were included in the vote. Their eyes didn't leave the captive.

“Six. Well then, Ikusaba Mukuro, it seems your fate has been decided.”

The soldier's eyes were shut tightly, her jaw trembling as she repeated the phrase. Kirigiri walked up and stood directly in front of her. She pressed her gloved index finger against the glass.

“It's punishment time.”

“ _Take care of Junko,_ ” Mukuro whispered one final time. Her eyes snapped open and her voice returned to its usual volume. “Kirigiri.”

“Yes?”

“It wasn't a lie.”

“We've already established that nothing you've said today is true.”

“About my mother. It wasn't a lie.”

A chill bloomed in Kirigiri's stomach. That had been the catalyst for her intimacy with “Enoshima”: mutual lack of a maternal figure. They had bonded over the pain, the longing, the imagined expectations, the withdrawl of their fathers, the constant question of whether or not she'd be proud, the fixation on a different family member...

“My mother's last words to me were 'Take care of Junko,'” Mukuro said. “I don't care if you want to take my life as payment for your suffering, but please— _please—_ help me rescue and rehabilitate my sister first.”

“Why should we do that? She's even more at fault than you are.”

“Junko-chan is sick. She needs help.”

“I have no reason to believe any of this,” Kirigiri said. “Stop trying to manipulate me.” _It will not work a second time._

Mukuro turned her head, staring off to her left. She breathed deeply, closed her eyes, and sighed.

“I have it. The letter.”

“From your mother.”

“It's in my vest's interior pocket,” Mukuro said. “Go ahead and check if you don't believe me.”

“You must really think I'm an idiot.”

Mukuro smiled at her sadly. “I'm bound and powerless, Kirigiri. I couldn't hurt you if I wanted to.”

The detective exhaled sharply through her nose.

“Fine.”

She motioned for Gondo to open the barrier door.

“Are you suicidal?” he asked in a distressed whisper. “She is the _original member_ of ChoZetsu!”

“She was also once my classmate, and if Naegi-kun and Asahina-san are to be believed, my friend.” Kirigiri took the card key from him and swiped it on the door panel. She stepped back, waiting for him to place his hand to the scanner.

Trust. She wanted to trust again. What she had felt in the dank gloom of the basement at Kibougamine, sitting on an overturned trash can outside the rusted cell door. The easy comfort of talking openly with someone else. The precious intimacy of being mutually vulnerable. It couldn't have all been a lie. Her memories had been returning slowly, in disjointed shards; she saw things in dreams sometimes that she knew to have happened once in a different life.

The real Ikusaba Mukuro. Awkward and quiet, devoted to her sister and so earnest when someone was lucky enough to peek behind her dead stare.

It couldn't have all been an act. There had to be things Kirigiri had told Mukuro that Junko didn't know.

The others were following. They moved as a unit now, she realized, supporting one another. Even the cowardly Hagakure. Even the leery Fukawa. Even goddamn Togami.

Trust. She had to trust them. Otherwise, what was the point?

“Only Kirigiri,” Mukuro said. Her voice was soft but firm. Her hands gripped the edges of the chair's arm rests.

Nodding to reassure them, the detective stepped through the barrier. Mukuro remained relaxed as she drew closer, though she tensed when Kirigiri's hand slid inside her flak vest.

 _This is the first time we've touched,_ she thought. _Or perhaps it isn't the first time._ A shiver coursed through her limbs.

Inside a small pocket sewn into the fabric resting against Mukuro's left breast, there were two sheets of paper. One was a string of _purikura_ photo booth pictures of Junko, clearly taken pre-Incident as she was wearing a modified version of Kibougamine's uniform. The other was a well-creased piece of stationary folded into eighths. Kirigiri carefully opened it and studied the words. Mukuro dipped her chin and stared at the floor.

“Release her,” Kirigiri said when she finished reading.

~

“So you really left ChoZetsu?” Asahina asked. She leaned on the table, mussing the maps and diagrams Mukuro had spread out on the meeting room table.

“Yes.”

“Wow, bet the Wicked Bitch of the West didn't take that well.” Hagakure cried out and held up an arm defensively when Mukuro glared at him.

“No, my sister did not take the news gracefully.”

“You're a very valuable asset,” Togami said. “I can see why she'd not want to let you go.”

“I'm sure it's hard to lose your sister,” Naegi said. He smiled at the soldier but it was tinged with melancholy.

Asahina patted his shoulder. “Don't worry. We'll find Komaru-chan.”

“I want to hear more about the plan,” Kirigiri said, cutting off whatever Fukawa had been about to add.

“It isn't complicated: we infiltrate the base and capture Junko-chan. Then we escape with her and get to someplace safe. We'll probably have to contain her for awhile, but if you give me some time with her, I'll bring her around.”

“You sound confidant that you can save her,” the detective said.

“I promised my mother.”

“And if you fail?”

“I won't.” Mukuro's gaze met Kirigiri's. A memory of wandering the halls at night and investigating suspicious sounds materialized her mind. She hadn't seen much: coral red nails, skin as smooth and white as eggshells, teeth tinged with reddish pink, the intense stare of those blue-gray eyes. “I don't fail when it comes to Junko-chan.”

“G-Getting into the base should be tough though,” Fukawa said, looking over the blueprints. “Wouldn't she j-just change the location since you're at large?”

“Despite what she says, Junko-chan trusts me,” Mukuro said. She smoothed the illustration of the base's heart gently. “She would never think I would come to you. Part of her is probably still waiting for me to crawl back to her so she can kill me.”

“It's okay, Ikusaba-san, we'll definitely be able to do this so long as we cooperate.” Naegi picked up the diagram of the outer defenses.

“Even if the base doesn't move, it's well-defended,” Togami said. “How do you propose we enter?”

“I'm not calling your abilities into question, but it does concern me how we'll get past the guards,” Kirigiri added. “You can't possibly kill every single member of the organization.”

“I don't want to cause unnecessary bloodshed,” Mukuro said, “so I thought we would take the secret passages inside.”

“And these secret passageways are left open to the public? Seems like bad design.”

“Oh, they have security. It's just something that we can easily bypass. You leave that part to me.”

“Well, I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm put at ease by that helpful explanation,” Togami said. His sneer apparently irritated Asahina, who punched him in the arm.

“Let Ikusaba-chan finish! Maybe she can't tell us the whole plan because you keep interrupting her.”

“Once we're inside I was thinking that we could have a couple people act as diversions to draw attention away from our- _Junko's_ bedroom.”

“I volunteer Asahina and Hagakure.”

“Togami-san!”

“No, actually they would be best suited to that role,” Kirigiri said. “Asahina-san is the most athletic of us, save Ikusaba-san, and can run the fastest. Hagakure-san is fairly quick as well, not to mention he's the most...ah, distinctive of our group.”

“Thanks, Kirigiri-chi!”

“I don't think that was a compliment,” Naegi said.

“That's settled,” Mukuro said, jotting down a note on the blueprints. “That means that Togami, Fukawa, Naegi-kun, and Kirigiri will come with me to the bedroom to subdue Junko-chan.”

“Okay!” Asahina punched the air. “Let's do this!”

“Wait. We aren't going to just barge into this unprepared.” Crossing his arms, Togami straightened his posture. “Inevitably, we are going to have to deal with resistance.”

“Yes, that's true. Most of the Zetsubou members aren't particularly skilled in anything; they're just grunts Junko-chan has recruited to the cause. They can be easily subdued without killing them.” Tapping her finger against the table, Mukuro bit her lip. “However, there are a few that may require using lethal force.”

“Such as?”

“Pekoyama.” The soldier squeezed her eyes shut and frowned. “As much as I dislike the idea of hurting her, it will probably be necessary.”

“Is she a friend of yours?” Kirigiri asked. She felt a burning sensation underneath her skin; she hoped it wasn't visible to the others.

“Yes,” Mukuro said. “My only friend there outside of Junko-chan.”

“She was the kendo master, wasn't she?” Naegi asked.

“That's right. T-Totally in love with her little gangster sidekick,” Fukawa said. Her eyes widened with understanding the way they always did when she remembered something.

“Indeed. Pekoyama is wholly devoted to Kuzuryuu.”

Kirigiri released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

“I have no doubt that Junko-chan is using him as leverage to get Pekoyama to pursue me. We're very similar, so I know she won't rest until I'm in custody.”

“Then you're leading her right to us!” Togami said, alarmed.

“That's why we need to act quickly.”

~

Pekoyama fussed with the strap for her _shinai_ for the fifth time in ten minutes. She'd heeded the announcement that there was going to be an important address delivered by their “glorious leader” and had arrived promptly only to find that—once again—there would be delays.

It had been almost two entire days since Ikusaba had disappeared, and in that time Enoshima had sequestered herself in her private chambers, only allowing entry to Tsumiki. Pekoyama had wanted to ask the nurse what exactly was going on, but every time she'd seen her, Tsumiki had been running an urgent errand.

How the leader's despair manifested was her own business, so long as she left Bocchan out of it, but Pekoyama did feel a bit anxious for Ikusaba's sake. It was rare that she'd go out on a mission without first mentioning it to her, and Enoshima's bizarre behavior in the wake of her leaving suggested that this wasn't a normal situation.

She looked to her right and realized that one of her friends had wandered into the assembly hall.

“Good morning, Koizumi.”

“Hi, Peko. May your day be dyed the deep black of ultimate despair.”

The swordswoman had long ago stopped acknowledging the cult's ridiculous greetings. “Do you have any idea what today's address concerns?”

“I would assume it has to do with Ikusaba-sempai's disappearance,” Koizumi said. She popped open her camera and checked the film. “Everything about it feels off somehow.”

“Agreed. Normally Ikusaba would consult with me before she went on a mission.”

“It's been two days,” Koizumi said, staring at the empty stage. Her voice had gone monotone. “It won't be long before She needs me again.” Unconsciously, the photographer reached up and brushed her fingers through her own hair. “The natural color just grew back in too. Ah, how despairing.”

Not wanting to broach the uncomfortable subject of where Koizumi was spirited off to when Ikusaba was gone for extended periods of time, Pekoyama turned toward the door. Kuzuryuu had yet to arrive, which was not unusual. However, she felt a twinge of worry. The strangeness of the last few days had seeped into her perception. Perhaps she was finally giving in to despair?

Pekoyama shook her head. No. The others were slowly filing through the door now. Any moment now, Bocchan would appear beside her with a sarcastic remark.

Any moment...

~

“Enoshima-sama, it's now half an hour past when you were supposed to give the address,” Tsumiki said to the blonde. She was lying on the bed, cradling what had once been Mukuro's pillow.

“She has eight-hundred and thirty-seven freckles,” Junko said in a detached tone.

“On her face?”

“No, on her body. There's only seventy-two on her face.”

“That's some great information, Enoshima-sama, but we really need to get to the assembly hall-”

“Ah, to think that one would fall into such despair over such a low being! A knight! My kingdom for a knight!”

Tsumiki clasped her hands and counted to ten. While she truly enjoyed spending time with her love and considered every second precious, this was not exactly what she had signed up for. Since Mukuro's departure, Junko had been barely functional. She'd tired of her personality every other sentence, and had divided all the time that hadn't involved spewing random facts about her twin into enraged screaming fits and bouts of inconsolable sobbing. Most of the time it was if she wasn't even aware that Tsumiki was present.

 _This is by design,_ the nurse told herself, _being Enoshima-sama's right hand means being able to shoulder more despair than normal._ Abuse was how she showed affection. The nastier Junko was to her, the closer she was to usurping Mukuro's coveted position in her beloved's heart.

“Mikan-chan,” Junko said, her voice hoarse. “Is everything ready for the speech?”

“Yes,” Tsumiki said.

“Help me up.”

She scurried to the side of the bed and wrapped one of Junko's arms around her shoulder. Her other hand went to the leader's waist, supporting her as she stood up. They began to stumble toward the door, stepping on each other's feet and almost losing their balance twice.

“You're not as good at this as Nee-chan.”

“Forgive me, Enoshima-sama.”

They hobbled down the corridor to the assembly room's service door. Once backstage, Junko found her spirit, tearing out of Tsumiki's grip and marching out to the podium.

“'Morning, you little despairing shits!” she said into the microphone, resulting in piercing feedback that made Mioda visibly upset.

“Hail Enoshima!” came the roaring reply of the audience.

“I called you all here for a very grave and important reason...HA! No way!” Junko struck a defiant pose. “I actually just want to give you bastards a heads up about something.”

“Our ears our yours!” So many obedient voices.

“Sooooo....Mukuro-nee's gone.”

That broke the consistency of the crowd's response. Hushed whispers and panicked shouts bounced around the large room.

“Ikusaba-san is gone!”

“Does that mean dead?”

“Stop fucking crying, Owari! I can't hear a damn thing!”

“No, no, unfortunately she isn't dead. Yet.” Sliding into her villain archetype posture, Junko lowered her pitch. “But I have terrifyingly despairing news. Ikusaba Mukuro...has defected.”

Exclamations of disbelief rose from various parts of the auditorium.

“I know. I can barely believe it myself. But this is no joke. My sister, Ikusaba Mukuro, has abandoned the cause.”

Junko held her left hand out expectantly. Tsumiki hurriedly passed her the monochromatic bear plush.

“Upupupupu,” Junko said, “this is good news for you guys though! It means that there's a new spot open in the organization.”

The nurse's jaw dropped.

“Let's make this interesting. I want my sister. The first person to bring her back to me— _alive_ —will be crowned my second-in-command!”

“E-Enoshima-sama...”

Junko tossed the bear aside and placed her fists on her hips, leaning backward and raising her chin. Hands shaking, Tsumiki collected the plush and placed a small metal crown on Junko's head.

“If you bring her back to me dead, there will be some kind of lesser award. Perhaps a swift execution? What say you, royal consort?”

“E-E-Eh...to.” The nurse felt frozen, shivering off to stage right, her knees about to buckle.

“Yes, yes. I know. I am magnificent in both body and mind.” Abruptly, Junko dropped the persona. She leaned forward on the podium, allowing the crown to slip off her head and fall into the audience.

“Let me make this perfectly clear. I want to kill that deceitful piece of trash myself.”

The crowd, save Komaeda, watched in petrified silence. The white-haired boy smiled contentedly as if listening to an outdoor concert. Kamukura elbowed him in the side.

“So one of you will capture her and bring her back here, so that I can slowly torture her to death. Is that understood?”

The only audible sound was that of Owari's muffled hiccups.

“I asked you if that was fucking understood!”

“YES, ENOSHIMA!”

“Great. That's what I like to hear.” Junko turned away with a dismissive wave. “Get to it, despairlings.”

Tsumiki held her breath as her love approached, bracing for a strike or a caress. Neither came.

“Tsumiki,” Junko said flatly as she passed. She didn't turn to look at the nurse. “The crown.”

“Y-Yes, Enoshima-sama!” she said and and hopped down from the stage. As she scanned the area for the missing crown, Pekoyama approached her.

“Tsumiki,” she said, sounding worried. “Have you seen Bocchan?”

“Yes, I saw him earlier today,” the nurse replied. She didn't look up from the floor. “He was taken down to the holding cells earlier today.”

Pekoyama's eyebrows shot up. “Why?”

“Something about a motive,” Tsumiki said. Headwear covered in glittery gems shouldn't be this difficult to find.

“I see,” the swordswoman said. She stiffly turned and bolted from the assembly hall.

Tsumiki located the crown at Komaeda's feet and snatched it away. He watched her with an amused expression, but didn't attempt to talk to her.

The nurse hugged the crown to her chest and headed back toward the bedroom. She had been so sure that the position at Enoshima's side was hers. Who else could it go to? But with that contest in place, she had no chance—there was no way she could subdue Ikusaba and drag her back.

 _This is a test, she thought,_ gritting her teeth. _Enoshima-sama is testing my ability to handle despair. If I pass this, she'll love me. She has to love me._


	3. Chapter 3

"Are you sure this will work?" Togami asked again. He brushed his shoulder where a drop of putrid water had fallen onto his jacket.

"Yes." Mukuro crouched down, rummaging through her pack for a flashlight. She didn’t need one—the tunnels were where she’d often transported bodies, so she knew them intimately—but the others would probably appreciate some illumination. She handed it to Naegi and stood back up. "It has to work."

"We’re trusting you, Ikusaba-san," Kirigiri said. 

"I know."

They walked on in silence, linked by a chain of hands clutching clothing. Mukuro led, followed by Kirigiri, then Naegi, Togami, Fukawa, Asahina, and Hagakure. At a fork in the path, they stopped.

"Asahina, Hagakure. This is where we part. Follow this passage all the way to the end and draw the guards’ attention there. Try not to be seen if at all possible."

"Roger!"

"Think I got it."

"Aoi," Fukawa said. Her voice was needy. 

Asahina took her hand and pressed her lips to it. “It’s okay, Touko-chan. The plan will work. You gotta have hope.”

"But if things go sour…"

"Shh, I’m not going to have any of that. We’ll meet back up after we get Enoshima-chan."

"Still, there’s things I should say."

The swimmer wrapped the smaller girl in a hug, pulling her close. Naegi had the presence of mind to shine the flashlight away from them for a few minutes. 

"I’ll see you afterward. I’m proud of you, Touko-chan."

Asahina waved cheerily as she and Hagakure headed down the other path. Fukawa’s lip trembled, but she managed to hold herself together.

"Let’s move," Mukuro said.

It felt as though they’d been walking for hours when the soldier finally stopped. A metal grate sealed with a complicated lock blocked their path. Mukuro took the finger of one of her gloves between her teeth and tugged it off her hand.

"What’s this?" Naegi asked.

"DNA scanner."

"So this fortress isn’t as competently guarded as I thought," Togami said. "Not relocating the entire operation is one thing, but not even bothering to change the lock to keep you out? That’s either arrogant, stupid, or lazy."

Mukuro turned to him, her forehead creased with wrinkles. “It is a DNA scanner. They can’t change it or Junko-chan wouldn’t be able to get in either.”

Removing her knife from her belt, Mukuro sliced open her finger and allowed a few drops of blood to fall on the scanner. It beeped cheerily and lit up green, the bolt for the door sliding out of the way.

"You have to wound yourself every time to enter?" Kirigiri asked.

"True gods demand blood sacrifices," Mukuro said.

"And your sister fancies herself a god."

The soldier shrugged and pushed open the grate. They filed inside, reaching a set of concrete steps that led up to a trap door.

"We came this way to avoid most of the base," Mukuro explained. "This door will bring us just outside the heart of the headquarters."

"The bedroom."

"Un. The bedroom."

Mukuro nodded to herself, then turned to the others.

"Are you ready?"

"As much as I can be."

"S-Same here."

"We can do it!"

"Kirigiri?"

The detective nibbled the edge of her glove where her fingernail should’ve been. 

"Before we go, I’d like to-"

“ _Ikusaba!_ ”

The unfamiliar voice barreled down the tunnel. Naegi’s grip tightened on Kirigiri’s jacket.

"Pekoyama," Mukuro whispered. "All of you, run. Leave this to me."

"We can’t just leave you behind!"

"I said GO!"

The metallic sound of a sword being unsheathed echoed around them. Helplessly, the four survivors took off into the darkness. Mukuro’s fingers gripped her knife.

"You thought no one was monitoring the entrances? You opened a door reserved for Level One clearance!"

"Knew I should’ve worn the disguise."

"Enoshima’s been locked in the bedroom since you left; who else could it be?"

"I don’t want to fight you, Pekoyama."

"I don’t like this either, but I must, for Bocchan’s sake." The swordswoman stepped into Mukuro’s line of sight. She held a sharp katana. "Your sister wants you returned to her alive, but she didn’t specify unharmed. You’ll be easier to transport without limbs."

Pekoyama was used to wooden blades. She shouldn’t be able to adapt to a metal sword so quickly. 

To Mukuro’s shock, the other woman lunged at her and struck in one fluid motion. She barely was able to get out of the way; the blade sliced the shoulder of her heavy shirt open. 

"Do not underestimate me, Ikusaba." Pekoyama circled her like a hawk closing in on a lone, crippled wolf. 

Mukuro grinned. Her playful sparring with the swordswoman had always been fun, but now for the first time, they could compete properly.

She twirled the knife between her fingers, matching her pace to Pekoyama’s. Staying alert and mobile would be key. The darkness would help too; they both had good low light vision, but Mukuro had the advantage of knowing the tunnels.

There was a glint, and she side-stepped, feeling the whoosh of air that passed from the sword swinging downward where she’d been standing. Almost immediately, Pekoyama turned to strike horizontally; Mukuro parried it with her knife.

Again, again, again, the sword came at her. Pekoyama really did deserve her title; this kind of speed with such a long katana was unheard of. In Mukuro’s line of work she was more often dodging bullets than blades, but close combat with her friend was proving to be more exhausting. She needed space.

Following a particularly close slice that grazed her ear, Mukuro turned and ran down the passageway.

"Running away?" Pekoyama said as she pursued her. "Is this your true character, Ikusaba? Just up and leave when things get too difficult, disregarding the mess you leave behind for the rest of us?"

The swordswoman caught up quickly, performing an unorthodox stabbing motion that very nearly punctured Mukuro’s thigh. The soldier turned and caught the katana on her knife again; her blade slid down to the guard of Pekoyama’s sword.

Their faces were close enough to touch noses. Mukuro could see the anger and hurt in her friend’s usually distant red eyes. They really were so alike. Without the influence of Junko and Kuzuryuu, they never would have ended up in this position. She liked Pekoyama; she was the only member of the organization aside from Junko who held that distinction. Mukuro realized with a sharp pang in her throat that she wouldn’t be able to kill her.

Pekoyama felt the soldier yield, the force behind the knife evaporate. Mukuro began to fall backward, and she fell forward after her. She was going to cleave the other woman in two, she thought sadly. The blow would kill Mukuro, meaning that Kuzuryuu would face the full brunt of Enoshima’s rage. _I’m about to lose my only friend and Bocchan with this one stupid overemotional strike…_

A mind less tuned to combat would have missed the beautiful sequence of motions that occurred then—the soldier managed to move her body out of the way of the katana, redirecting the blade so that it harmlessly cut air. Mukuro then plucked it from Pekoyama’s grip, allowed it to flip over, and stabbed it through the silver-haired woman’s shoulder, pinning her to the ground.

"What is this? What the hell are you doing?"

"I’m sorry, Pekoyama. You deserve a warrior’s death, but I just don’t think I can give it to you. Once a disappointment, always a disappointment I guess."

"What are you talking about?"

"I avoided severing anything too important. Make sure whoever pulls the blade out does it at a right angle so they don’t do any damage."

"Ikusaba, what’s going on?"

Mukuro crouched down and placed a hand on Pekoyama’s uninjured shoulder.

"You’ve been a good friend to me. Thank you."

She pressed the distress button on Pekoyama’s communicator and stood back up, heading in the direction the survivors had fled.

~

Kirigiri ran her gloved fingers over her jacket’s zipper, trying to calm down. Naegi was pressed against her left side, Fukawa against her right, and she could feel Togami dismissively huffing behind her.

ChoZetsu’s headquarters were so much worse than she’d imagined. Using what she could remember about Enoshima, she had expected gaudy, colorful decor, but she hadn’t counted on the grotesquely cute flourishes. When they had burst out of the secret tunnels, they’d found themselves in the kitchen area. Luckily the chef hadn’t noticed them in the middle of his one-man musical number, so they’d been able to sneak out a nearby door into a storage area. They were currently hiding between a moldy wall and a wood chipper that had clearly been used to dispose of bodies. The ground beneath it was splattered with aged, dried blood. On its side was a crude drawing of Monokuma wearing a safety helmet and advising the operator to keep their appendages away from the IN and OUT areas.

It was very possible that Mukuro was either dead or recaptured. In either case, that meant that they were now in a precarious situation. Kirigiri felt a responsibility to get the group out safely; that had been her mission at Kibougamine, and it was on her order that Mukuro was released and humored.

Her grief over the soldier and not being able to speak to her directly would have to come later.

"I’m going to see if I can gather some information," she said. Fukawa and Naegi’s grasp on her jacket tightened.

"No," they whispered in unison.

"We can’t just sit here and wait," Kirigiri said. "Finding a way out should be our top priority and we can’t do that trapped in storage. I promise I’ll come back."

"That’s what Ikusaba-san said," Naegi said.

Kirigiri couldn’t help but smile. Poor, naive Naegi. Mukuro had never said anything of the sort.

"S-So we’ll j-just dwindle down," Fukawa said in a hushed tone. "Like a bad m-murder mystery novel." Her eyes were shut tightly; there were so many triggers here and the last thing they needed was Sho announcing their presence to the guards.

"Besides, what about the plan?"

"Naegi, are you an idiot?" Togami said. "Forget the plan. We were fools to agree to it in the first place."

"I’m afraid I agree," Kirigiri said. "My sincerest apologies, everyone."

"D-Does this mean we’re giving up on Hagakure and Aoi too?"

Togami snorted. “Trying to chase them down now would be suicidal. If they’re worthy of being saved, they’ll find their way to the rendezvous point. Though knowing them, I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

Fukawa inhaled sharply and seemed ready to do the unthinkable and lash out at Togami when a figure appeared to their right.

"What are you doing here?"

"Ikusaba-san!" Naegi’s voice gushed with relief.

"How did you locate us?" Kirigiri asked.

"You left the trap door ajar," she said. "You were fortunate you came up in Hanamura’s domain and not that of someone more observant."

"So now that you’re back, we can finish the plan, right?" Naegi asked.

"Are you out of your mind?" Togami said.

Fukawa interrupted him. “L-Lead the way, Ikusaba.”

Though they were hesitant, Mukuro led them back down to the tunnels. Kirigiri felt an odd kind of comfort being in the dark again. At least underground she was shielded from having to see the horrific set pieces Junko had set up. Until now, she had always assumed that the mangled corpses they found in their trap had gone overboard with their dramatic suicides, but now she knew that a good portion of ChoZetsu’s members were purposely deformed. She rubbed her own hands together.

It didn’t take long to reach the stairs leading to the bedroom again. Mukuro carefully lifted the trap door and did a scan of the hallway, then signaled them to follow her.

To their surprise, the door to the bedroom wasn’t locked. They filed inside, taking in the ornate furniture; using so much red leather and velvet had to be against good taste.

"And what the absolute _FUCK_ are _you_ doing here?” Tsumiki’s lip curled, her chest heaving and her posture stiff.

"We’re here for Enoshima," Togami answered. He crossed his arms and lifted his chin, looking down on her.

"Oh no you’re not," she said. "I’m about to become second-in-command by delivering the Great Betrayer here to Enoshima-sama."

Mukuro said nothing. The nurse approached her and poked her in the chest with her index finger.

"And then, we’re going to torture you together. When you’re begging for death, we’ll kill you and have sex on your corpse."

Naegi muttered a soft “wow” under his breath.

"S-Seriously, what is wrong with everyone in this cult?" Fukawa said.

"I can’t believe you," Tsumiki said. "First, why you would _ever_ leave Enoshima-sama’s side. Especially to partner up with these… _vermin._ And then you bring them back here? In an attempt to take her hostage?”

Kirigiri expected Mukuro to explode on the nurse. There was no reason not to—she was being hostile and loud, and could very well blow their cover. From their conversations in the dungeon back at the school, she inferred that this was the “interloper” Mukuro couldn’t stand.

Yet the soldier remained calm, staring at Tsumiki emotionlessly as her tirade continued.

"Do you know what it’s been like here since you left? Do you know who’s been sharing your sister’s bed while you’ve been gone?"

"Koizumi?"

"Ha. Ha. Yes, that’s true, but do you know who’s been keeping her warm at night without being beaten and abused?" Tsumiki’s mouth stretched into a vile grin. "I’ll give you a hint. She’s in this room, and she isn’t you."

Mukuro blinked but otherwise her facial expression didn’t change.

"Guess what? She’s never called me a disappointment."

Kirigiri saw the soldier’s muscles tense. Perhaps she’d take the bait after all.

Something strange happened then. Rather than pounce on Tsumiki and rip out her tongue, Mukuro relaxed. It was as if she were melting, her body going softer and looser than Kirigiri had ever seen it.

"Junko-chan," she breathed.

The rest of the group followed Mukuro’s line of sight to see that Super High School Level Despair herself had exited the bathroom. She was disheveled: her hair looked as if it hadn’t been brushed in days; she was wearing a faded tank top and ratty exercise shorts; dark circles dragged beneath her eyes.

"Oh my got," Junko said. Her tone uncomfortably straddled shock and irritation.

_Time to go._

What an odd sensation, Kirigiri thought as the bullets ripped through her knees. The pain felt distant, as if it were happening to someone else. It wasn’t her own body that was falling to the floor. These weren’t her screams of pain.

Her head collided with Naegi’s as they crumpled. She could hear Fukawa wailing in agony, Naegi whimpering, and Togami’s astonished gasps.

"What’s this?" Junko said, her expression genuinely confused.

Mukuro lowered her handgun and snatched the communicator from Tsumiki, who had frozen in shock beside her.

"Attention, attention," the soldier said over the intercom, "there are two intruders inside the base. They are currently located in Sector C-12, and are heading to D-5. Apprehend them and radio me back."

Moments later the communicator buzzed.

"We’ve got them, boss," said a voice. In the background they could hear Asahina and Hagakure yelling and struggling.

"Good. Terminate them."

The fuzzy sound of two gunshots popped from the communicator and then the radio cut off.  Fukawa screamed and grabbed her head with both hands.

"Upupu…upupupupupu…." Junko’s shoulders trembled with delighted laughter. "Oh, Nee-chan! That was some despair you put me through!"

"Was it?"

"Yes! It was glorious! I thought you’d left me for good that time. But you came back."

Mukuro smiled warmly. “I always do.”

"And you brought me _them._ " Junko waved a hand over the survivors. "Today is the best day of my life."

A pained gurgle left Tsumiki’s throat and she backed into the corner.

"You-You… _villain,_ " Togami said.

Mukuro’s eyes met Junko’s. Without a word, the blonde’s mouth opened in a toothy smile, and she turned to retrieve a wooden bat from behind the bed’s headboard.

"Fuck, Togami, just SHUT. UP."

The bat smashed his skull with a pulpy crunch. She repeated the motion several times, giggling ecstatically, splattering blood and chunks of hair all over the other survivors. Fukawa, taking the brunt of it, howled. Unable to keep Sho at bay anymore, she slipped away from herself, allowing the serial killer to take her place.

"Fukawa-san, no! You’ve been doing so well lately! It’s been months!" Naegi said. His fingers closed around her upper arm, as if he could physically hold Fukawa in place.

"Go~od morning! Long time, no see, everybody!" Genocider Sho’s laughter synchronized with Junko’s. "Holy shit it’s been awhile. Oh? Gettin’ friendly, are we, Mako-chin?"

Naegi recoiled from Sho’s wink, trying to crawl closer to Kirigiri.

Junko calmed down enough to motion for Mukuro to throw her the communicator.

"Hey, can one of you bastards come collect the psycho? Put her down in the holding cells with Kuzu-kun. No, not the same cell you moron." Junko turned to Naegi and Kirigiri to shrug and roll her eyes.

The door opened and a burly man entered. He picked up Sho with a surprising gentleness.

"You think you can make me despair? HA!"

Junko pinched her cheek. “Maybe not you, but Fukawa? Fuck yes.”

"You sound pretty confident for someone who’s failed a bunch of times already."

"Third time’s the charm, ne?" She patted Sho’s head and looked up at the man. "Remember, Nidai, _not the same cell as Kuzuryuu._ ”

"ROGER THAT!" the man boomed and left.

"Kirigiri-san," Naegi said, looking to her for help. His eyes were wide and frightened; she could see the gears in his head furiously turning in an attempt to find something to be optimistic about. Some tiny shred of hope he could cling to.

"The last damn thing we need is Pekoyama jumping ship," Junko said. She addressed Mukuro. "You didn’t kill her did you?"

The soldier shook her head.

"Good girl. Don’t worry; I’ll reward you in a second."

A bright red nail pointed first to Kirigiri, then to Naegi and back again while Junko murmured softly.

"Kirigiri-san, please don’t give up," Naegi said, clasping her hand in his. "There has to be a way out of this, there has-"

It would’ve been almost comical, the way his head plopped forward like a narcoleptic cartoon character’s, if it hadn’t been accompanied by a gunshot and a spray of blood and brain matter.

"Perfect shot, Muku-nee!" Junko squealed and jumped in place, flashing a peace sign.

The pain in Kirigiri’s knees worsened. She patted Naegi’s unresponsive hand and tried to keep her panic under control. She had been deceived again. Her friends, her precious friends whom she’d fought so hard to protect, her comrades in the life-or-death struggle at Kibougamine, her fellow survivors…were dead. It was her fault. She shouldn’t have trusted Ikusaba—she should have known this would happen. How could she have let herself be fooled by this woman twice? Was she really so desperate for companionship and intimacy that she would sacrifice her adopted family for a chance to be with Ikusaba romantically?

Junko tucked the end of the bat under Kirigiri’s chin and lifted it so that she could see her face.

 _I’m about to die,_ she thought. _My life is about to end and it’s my own fault._

"How could you," Kirigiri said, her voice breaking. Though she was looking at Junko, there was no mistake where her words were directed. "Why did you do this?"

"You all tried to kill my sister and throw her body away like garbage." There was a harsh growl in Mukuro’s voice Kirigiri hadn’t heard since the day they’d defeated the mastermind.

The true Ikusaba Mukuro? It didn’t matter anymore.

"We spared her life! She wanted to die!"

"Then you should’ve killed her! Who are you to decide her fate?"

Junko looked down at Kirigiri with a smug grin.

"What about you? What about your hope to save your sister from despair?!"

Mukuro walked into Kirigiri’s field of vision. Her eyes icy, she frowned.

"What does hope have to do with someone like me?"

Her sister erupted into hysterics, clinging to Mukuro’s arm.

"Holy shit, that’s a good one," she said between gasps of laughter, "wanting to save _me_ from despair!!!”

 _This is it,_ Kirigiri thought as the soldier raised her gun, but Junko pushed it back down again.

"No, no, Nee-chan," she said, caressing her sister’s face. "Killing her now is no fun. Let’s put her down with Fukawa. We can teach her what true despair tastes like together."

"Whatever makes you happy, Junko-chan."

Nidai was summoned again; Kirigiri took little comfort in how tender his hands were.

Once the door shut, Junko threw her arms around Mukuro’s neck, plastering her cheek with kisses.

"Mukuro-nee, you’re the best sister anyone could ever ask for!"

The soldier blushed. “I’m glad you like your present, Junko-chan.”

"Like it? I’m crazy about it!" The younger twin pressed her body against Mukuro’s and placed a hand on her hip. "I can barely contain myself. Let’s go celebrate your homecoming."

Tsumiki watched in horror as her beloved pulled her rival toward the bed. They’d forgotten about her, huddled in the corner, her face wet with tears and snot.

How could she possibly compete with that? Mukuro had not only given Junko exquisite despair, she’d delivered the pesky survivors to her in the process. It was a masterful coup de grace that Tsumiki could never match, let alone surpass.

 _I hate her,_ she thought as she watched the twins disrobe and hungrily grasp each other.

_I hate her I hate her I hate her._

*

Neither of them had said anything since Junko had met her at Shinjuku Station. It was a Sunday, so the Odakyu Line hadn’t been crowded; Mukuro felt uncomfortable, as if there should be a seat between them. They transferred at Sagami-Ono to the Enoshima Line in silence, Mukuro sitting down in the middle of the bench. Junko could decide how close she wanted to be.

She took the seat beside her, but sat up straight so that they didn’t touch.

Somewhere around Yamato, Mukuro dug the small box out of her bag.

"Here, I brought you something," she said, handing it to Junko. "I hope you like it."

Her sister took the lid off the box to reveal a stylized choker necklace.

"It’s from Egypt," Mukuro said. Her tongue felt clumsy and large in her mouth.

Junko didn’t respond, placing the lid back on the box.

The soldier didn’t attempt conversation again until they got off at Katase-Enoshima. Junko confirmed with a nod that she intended to walk and they headed toward Ryuukouji.

Mukuro hadn’t been here in over three years; not much had changed. The air still smelled salty from the bay breeze, the streets were still crammed with souvenir shops and tourists on bicycles, even in winter. Junko, however, was different. She was gorgeous, for one thing, but there was something else about her. Something…off. It terrified Mukuro to think that their bond might have been permanently severed during her absence.

She reached out an awkward hand and grabbed Junko’s fingers.

"Don’t apologize," Junko said.

Mukuro bit back the “I’m sorry” she’d been ready to blurt. “You’re beautiful,” she said instead. “Even more so than in your magazine photos.”

"You’ve seen those?"

"Yeah. I…I collected them."

Was that creepy? Did it sound creepy? It did, didn’t it. Who hoarded someone’s pictures, aside from serial killers and obsessed fans?

"That’s…sweet, Nee-chan."

They’d reached the temple. Junko laced her fingers with Mukuro’s and pulled her up the hill to the house. The older twin noticed that their father’s car was gone.

"He spends most of his time on weekends in the city," Junko explained as she unlocked the door.

“ _Tadaima,_ " Mukuro whispered, crouching to unlace her combat boots. Junko continued into the house.

The older twin didn’t find her in the living room, or the kitchen, or their father’s room, or their bedroom. She paused in front of their mother’s study door, listening to her pounding heart. She could still run away now. She could bolt out of the house, board the train and take it all the way back to the airport. Once she entered, escape was no longer an option.

Hands trembling, she removed two letters from her pocket. The one yellowed with age she left folded up, instead opening the more recent one on cute pink stationery.

 _Dear Nee-chan,_ it read, _Please come home._

Mukuro refolded the paper and slipped it back into her pocket. She pushed the door open.

Junko was waiting for her, lying on her back and wearing nothing but the necklace Mukuro had just given her on the train. Her smile and half-lidded eyes told her that there hadn’t been any doubt that the soldier would follow her here.

"Did you think about me?" she asked.

"Every day." Mukuro swallowed what little moisture had built up in her mouth. "I used to…look at the pictures of you in magazines and…"

"And?"

"I’d kiss and lick the paper while I touched myself."

"I thought about you a lot too," Junko said. She slid a hand down her torso and began to slowly rub between her legs.

"J-Junko-chan," Mukuro said, walking forward. Mechanically, she removed her clothes one piece at a time, never breaking eye contact with her twin.

"I expect you to finish what you start this time," Junko said as Mukuro crawled on top of her.

It came more easily than Mukuro had anticipated. Instinct coupled with how well she knew her sister had Junko moaning into her ear after several minutes.

"Muku-nee," the younger twin breathed, her right hand clinging to the back of her head and her left to her waist, "never leave me again."

"I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I belong to you, Junko-chan."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Stay tuned as I move more things over from my Tumblr.


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